I’ve been writing this poem for a month, 

I don’t know how to tell you what 

This has done for me without also sounding

Out of breath, 

But last week,

I wrote 3 poems and not one of them 

Was about depression. 

I know this does not sound like a lot,

But I promise you that there was a time 

That I did not know how to do this,

And maybe that is the lesson,

That a seed 

Still sprouts even after it’s been

Buried and I guess 

By that I mean 

Without poetry I’m not sure I would be here.

Which is to say that poetry taught me to survive,

Taught me to get out of bed in the morning, 

Taught me that I can still make beautiful things

Even with hands so like my fathers, 

Which is to say that poetry makes my body

Feel like a body, 

On nights where being awake felt like trying to breathe underwater, poetry became the fresh air, 

And I know that sounds dramatic,

And I know I am a sob story gift wrapped to ruin the occasion,

But I mean it when I say poetry was the only thing I had, 

Was the only difference between the sun and everything that it

Burns. 

Lately, I’ve been doing better. 

Lately, my poems 

Ache less, 

Last week when I wrote I did not use the word hurt once, 

Last week when I wrote I learned that no matter how many dictionaries I read

No matter how many languages I learn,

How much meaning I keep like secrets on the palm of my hand,

There will never be a series of words that do justice to the light in my heart right now.

And I guess my point is that poetry taught me to shine, 

Taught me to be the best version of my self, 

Taught me 

that a forest is still reborn 

even after it burns 

down.